


Nobody is Perfect (but everyone is to blame)

by thecraplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst!, M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecraplan/pseuds/thecraplan
Summary: "We can be insane if it means I can be with you."





	

//

 

The first time Bucky met Clint, it was in the incinerator. Some, messed up battle between hydra and shield. Clint was a sane, sick-humoured man then. He'd joke at the wrong times and fuck up saving comrades (including Bucky). But Bucky could not deny that he was certainly entertaining. I mean, the man could talk for hours and Bucky would never have known how long had passed.

But Clint wasn't a sane man. the days that passed after their first meeting had blossomed into something of a budding romance. Plain as day it was – Bucky would hover around Clint while the latter acted like he was on drugs.

 

'Aww coffee, no' He'd frown when he spills his coffee.

 

Both of them had been brainwashed before. Both of them were excellent shooters (well they claim), and both of them were like enzyme and food, fitting together through sarcasm and agreement towards life.

They would spend hours in the range Tony built and shoot the life out of those boards. Clint would challenge Bucky with all sorts of shooting tactics. Knives, arrows, anything. Bucky loved it. He loved spending time with Clint. That man was a maniac and he loved it. He once told Bucky he imagined every centre of each board to be a picture of Fury in hockey pants pulled up until it covered his stomach. It wasn't exactly humorous. But it was Clint.

 

Clint sang too. He lumbered most of the time, looking deathly insomniac, tussled hair and darkened skin daily. He would sing war songs like it was his birthday. And it was strange in it's own way. His favourite, he said, was when he whistled the tune of Oh When The Saints Go Marching In while he downed his third bottle of vodka at four in the morning. Sometimes he'd shave his beard. But Clint was a lazy man. He always kept an appropriate amount of stubble on his face. And that, that too was Clint.

 

If Bucky said he was unstable then, he can conclude that he's gone insane with Clint now.

He spent every available minute by the assassin's side. On the roof, by the window, everywhere. Anywhere.

 

Steve got worried. But he really didn't know who to worry for. Because from a perspective, it looks like they've gone insane together. But from another perspective, Bucky is supporting Clint, taking his soul in his hands and keeping it safe. Alive, if not.

After all, Clint had said once, in his drunken state, that – I want you to keep my soul safe. He had mimicked plucking out his heart from his left breast and presenting it to Bucky, by pressing it to his open palms. Bucky barely complained. He didn't say anything in fact. He just copied Clint and pressed those palms to his own heart.

  
Clint had smiled, a crazy, wild smile that didn't seem to be directed at him. Clint kept talking. He told Bucky about his old times in the circus with Barney. Bucky listened. He would throw in a few of his own comments sometimes and for a few special minutes, Clint would feel normal. He would feel like he was having a civilized conversation and not totally thinking of Looney Tunes' characters dancing in his head while he talks. Sometimes during then, Barney's head would pop up and he'd start singing too, and Clint would laugh. Clint would laugh and it would be strange. Because no one else sees it.

No one else except Bucky.

 

Natasha had said once that the day someone understands Clint fully, all his gimmicks and lame jokes, the whole package, is the day the stars aline.

She remembered, the day Bucky fell right into Clint's arms. The stars did aline. Because Bucky had laughed. He had chortled in the middle of a fight with giant lizards with Clint over how great that catch was. They were both so lost in themselves Tony and Steve actually cursed them both at the same time. Natasha cursed too because damn, they're both perfect for each other.

 

Tony told them to get a room when Bucky pulls Clint for a kiss in the rubble. He lifted the finger, metal, to Tony while Clint pushed him against the crumbled bricks.

Steve's face was a bit too red.

  
Tony told Steve to get used to it.

 

* * *

 

"Don't test my patience."

 

It's gala night and the avengers were again at another red carpet event as special guests.

Maria said that they needed to be a bit more social. She said that just because they're heroes, that didn't mean that they're any higher than anyone else around.

Bucky snorts then. Because he knew he was not. He was possibly lower. Clint leant into him then and started singing In Christ Alone.                                                                                                

Everyone ignored them.

* * *

 

The Avengers fall apart.

 

It's no one's fault to be completely honest. Everyone just felt like they needed time to just be themselves, their usual selves before the Avengers became a thing.

Tony wanted to get back to his gadgets and Pepper. 'She needs me there.' He claims.

Steve stays in Shield. Most of them do.

Natasha left to god knows where. But she did meet up with Clint in Brooklyn now and then.

Bucky's gone with Clint to live in his shabby apartment in Bedford-Stuyvesant for 'the rest of his life' he stated. Together, with Kate, they fight junkies and thieves in their little city like all usual city vigilantes would.

They've nicknamed themselves: the three sharpshooters.

It isn't the best. But it works. And it causes a good laugh now and then. 

 

Bucky likes the posters plastered on the walls of the apartment buildings. It's a run-down yet functioning city where dirt-smudged images of all three of them would appear on either 'legend!' or 'wanted!'

 

They've lived long. They've lived good. And although sometimes the past comes back to rage their messed up minds, they both know there's coffee, Lucky and each other there.

Oh yes, Lucky. Pizza dog. Bucky's fond of the lab. He's a sweet pizza-loving friend. During the autumn season, Bucky would go down with Clint and walk Lucky. Bucky loved the leaves crunching beneath his boots. They always sat by the pizzeria down the street and ordered enough pepperoni pizza for all three of them.

Of course he carried his knives. If not a few less than usual.

* * *

 

Time passed quickly.

They got a bit older. A bit more tired. But they fought the same crimes. Kate was barely around anymore because she had places to be. Or so she said. Clint questioned the nickname and supported changing it to the duo shooters but Kate literally vomited then (she was sick). Bucky just winced. At the name or the vomit, Clint decided not to ask.

Clint had felt better than he had in his entire life. Pizza and coffee and waking up at 3 in the afternoon was his way of life. And he's pretty happy that he wasn't a complete loner like he expected. He's got a lot more friends. And all those friends claim that he's completely sane now. All except Natasha.

'He's still an idiot.'

Oh, Clint knows she loves him.

  
...

  
Right?

* * *

Time kept passing, until Clint only knew Natasha and Bucky existed.

And that was good enough.

  
Sometimes Steve would call, but Clint said he didn't remember. Bucky didn't question him to why he denied it.

  
Natasha died soon. In an assassination mission, shot in the head. Clint yelled. He trashed a room in Shield HQ and Bucky was right there for him when he fell.

He's afraid of falling, afraid of a lot of things. A lot of things he don't show.

  
Clint slowly slipped back to his silent reveries. He barely said anything. He drank until 5 in the morning and smoked. He smoked a lot. He spent a couple hours at the roof with that guy that grills. Bucky can't remember his true name though. He offered one stick to Bucky once, but he declined. He didn't really like the feeling of smoke in his throat. But because it was Clint, he didn't mind.

One thing during then that he just couldn't seem to fathom was Clint's health. No matter how much beer he drank, how much he smoked, he never went crazy (well, technically he already was but).  
He was still fit, always praising his arm muscles as if they helped him win the Olympics. His breath barely stank, and Bucky knew that because he's kissed Clint way too many times not to tell. That man only smelt like coffee.

  
Bucky feels like he's kissing coffee sometimes, when Clint doesn't smell like sweat or shampoo. He was not sure whether he liked it or not. 

* * *

Bucky had expanded his music playlist to include gospel songs and the Lady and the Tramp. It's an odd combination. But it works a charm after a hard battle.

  
Clint would sit by the window sipping on his third? fourth bottle and he would gaze back at Bucky whose body lay flat on the bed, flesh arm thrown over his eyes. Some RnB would go on in the background and they would yell comments at each other's taste of music. And Clint felt less insane.

To be true, he never felt insane at all when he was with Bucky. That man was his anchor. Always pulling him away from freakish Clint to a more normal, civil man. He even quit smoking. Well, maybe a drag once or twice a month but that was already a huge improvement.

  
One thing Clint loved about Bucky wass that he's just as unsure as he was about himself. They share a bed in Clint's apartment. Sofas are comfortable. But Bucky somehow ended up sleeping in Clint's bed everyday. Clint keeps a Swiss knife in his hand under the pillow. Bucky has multiple knives at different parts of his holsters. That man has at least five different holsters around his body. There's one in the pillowcase because that's just the 'supposed' thing to do.

  
The chemistry between them is absolutely insane.

* * *

Clint refuses to get up from bed. He's slurping coffee at forty-two past six in the morning.

  
Bucky is rummaging through their cupboard of black hoodies. There really was no difference between those twenty-six hoodies, but to Bucky it was totally different. He pulled out an extra-large and shrugged it on.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Then he falls back on the bed and grabs Clint's mug. Barton whines as the hot liquid is ripped from his grip.

  
He glared at Bucky sideways. Bucky makes sure his slurps are extra loud to cause more anger. Clint huffs. He shoves Bucky's side and there is a disgruntled yell. It's a miracle no coffee spills out. When Bucky doesn't show any sign of giving the mug back, Clint gives up and stared at Bucky's socks.

"Buck. Your socks are black."

"Huh. They were white before." Bucky shrugs.

Clint stares incredulously at Bucky as he continues to empty his cup. What the hell happened to clean socks?

  
Aww socks, no.

* * *

It was the twelfth of August.

  
Clint sits under a tree by Natasha's grave. He's been here approximately every alternate day of the week. He sits for about an hour and a half and just _talks_. Sometimes there'll be other folks around and he would just talk, sitting by a tombstone in autumn.

Bucky would be out most of the time. Running errands, or meeting Steve. He knew Clint was always there. By himself. He always made an effort to do a detour to 'bump' into him. If Clint knows about Bucky's efforts, he doesn't say much. He just stands up and dusts his pants and pulls on a lopsided grin.

  
Another new thing was that – Bucky moved into Clint's apartment. Like literally. A communicative way of asking to be roommates. They have good times, and bad times. Christmas was always a bummer. There were these thugs going around with bats ending and starting their phrases with ‘bro’ and Bucky is terribly disgusted by their orange jumpsuits. Like, God, who thought it was a good idea to make orange clothing? Black was more appropriate for literally any occasion.

Unless you were those guys in orange jumpsuits. Of course.

He blames Clint for trying to play hero with them. But then again, without those thugs, there wouldn't be Lucky.

  
Bucky also complains about Clint spilling coffee everywhere. Clint denied and tried to claim his innocence but the stains on every furniture said otherwise. Even the kitchen floor had a patch. 

And arrows.

"Clint, you loser." 

They stare up in the snow at the boomerang arrow stuck in the connection panel. 

"So that's where my boomerang arrow went! I searched for days!"

Bucky throws Clint an unamused glance.

"I really wanted to watch Christmas special today." 

Bucky is frowning slightly. Clint shrugs apologetically and slurps from his over-frosted coffee cup and Bucky doesn't even bother to question why he brought a cup out in the snow because that is Clint.  
He shoves a hand into his sweatshirt pocket and shuffles back into the apartment. Clint trudges with him, purple slippers sludging on the wet floor of the lobby. 

It's really cold outside. But since Bucky _accidentally_ kicked over the heater, it was not much better inside.

 

This is what you get for being heroes and assassins. 

Fuck. Shield.

* * *

-

 everythin'sa alright. 

-

"Jesus Barton. Stop."

Bucky can give up now. He wrenches the goddamn bottle and lands it on the tabletop. There's a resounding slam that echoes around the room. 

"Can't you stop drinking that fucking thing for one day? It's fuckin' drugs to you." 

He just can't stand it. He loves Clint. He loves him so much he wants to put a bullet through his muddled brain. If Clint wanted out, he would give him out.  
Clint sinks into the chair, literally sliding down the wood and sighs. Bucky expects a half-hearted apology, or some lame excuse. But no. Clint just starts singing. 

"Hickery Dickery Dock..." 

Bucky smashes his palm to his temple and wonders what happened. What happened to their life. 

It was going so well. 

"The mouse went up the clock."

 

He sinks to his knees by Clint's side and pushes the growing fringe flopping over his forehead. 

"I love you." 

Clint would have looked into his eyes, called him corny. Then he would kiss him. But now he's just insane. It hurts his heart numerous times.  
Bucky knows Clint can hear him. He's not so far gone yet. Somewhere inside. Clint can hear him. 

"Hickery Dickery Dock."

Its suddenly silent. Bucky looks up to Clint. His breaths are even. He fell asleep.

But nothing hides the tear tracks down his face.

* * *

  
-

I tried so hard 

-

I know. 

 

Bucky is asleep. Finally worn himself out. Clint picks himself out of his bubble of despair and lumbers over to him. He crashes into the bed and pulls Bucky to him.  
Feels him. Loves him.

He feels Bucky tug at his shirt and melts internally. He's amazing. Clint knows it. And he is really, really grateful for someone like Buck. 

His arms circle Bucky's shoulders. Clint smiles when he feels the bundle of a person shift beside him. He throws a leg over Bucky's knees. If they stayed like this forever, it would be a miracle. He noses Bucky's loose bun and feels him press his forehead to Clint's collarbones. 

It's peaceful.

* * *

When Clint lifts the corner of his lips to form a smirk Bucky just smiles. Clint tilts his head against the crumbled brick wall. He raises an eyebrow towards Bucky and the latter just snorts. Bucky tosses his rifle on the ground and sidles up under Clint's offered arm. They're both injured. 

No matter what they say, they're getting older. 

Someone else will come fight the crimes they can't afford to. 

Even though as old as they think they are, they aren't old enough to tell stories of their childhood and offer old candy to kids. Not that they will anyway.

Clint knows Bucky is wounded. His flesh arm is awkwardly pressed against his side in an attempt to lighten the pain. So without saying anything, Clint takes Bucky's wrist and starts winding gauze he produced from his pocket. 

Bucky sighs and leans more heavily onto Clint. He feels fingers dance across his arm and it's peaceful.

 

Once it was done, Clint pulls Bucky closer, until he's tucked under his jaw. Until Clint can feel the wet sweat of Bucky's hair under his chin. Bucky feels Clint slide his hand down the underside of his metal arm and presses something cool and circular into his palm. 

And when they get up to explain to the cops, Bucky makes sure he ties the ring to his wrist with an elastic.

* * *

 

-

I love everything about you

-

Sing me to sleep now.

  
"Light the cigarette for me?"

He smiled, a small tug at the corner of his lips. He shakes the lighter in his gaze, watching the liquid toss about. 

_Flick._

The light flickers and he holds it to the bud of the cigarette in his mouth. Then he lights his own. The smoke is soothing. It curls in his lungs. He can feel it. Now he understands why he enjoyed smoking so much. The feeling is crazy intoxicating. 

He leans his head against the wall. He isn't much for dramatic cries so he keeps silent. Clint fiddles with the aids on his ears, struggles, and Bucky slides over. He gently tugs the devices off and leaves both halves on the side table. 

"Gotta die deaf." Clint smiles and his eyes shut. He's still breathing, the harsh air leaving his lips and the rise and fall of his chest stated clearly he wasn't dead. 

Bucky stares blankly at the space above Clint's crop of hair. He stares until a lock of hair falls into his vision. Bucky pulls a band off his wrist and buns up his hair in a loose knot. 

 

When he looks up again, he can no longer see the rise of Clint's chest. Clint, god, didn't even tell him he was never gonna be able to see those eyes again. He didn't know. He didn't know. 

Bucky holds a hand over his mouth. Each shaky breath warms his palm. 

He leans, just a fraction away from Clint's face and watches that peaceful expression. It made him wary, because he felt like Clint was going to open his eyes and jumpscare him. But he couldn't. 

 

Just one kiss. Just one and he will move on. Bucky leans in, eyes sliding shut when he covers Clint's lips with his own. He can just feel Clint, his hand brushing his jaw, his warm, warm body and Bucky allows himself one second of sorrow. 

Because this is a hallucination. This dream is a nightmare. When he opens his eyes tomorrow morning, Clint will never be there. 

"Honestly Clint."

Bucky stands. The bones shift in his knees and he dusts his pants. He opens the wardrobe, ignoring the many things that remind him of Clint, like purple underwear, and pulls out a jacket. Slings a small bag over his shoulder and before he leaves this place forever, closes his eyes and breathes.

  
His heart is empty.

 

//

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll run an error check later.  
> /Title from In My Veins-Andrew Belle/  
> 


End file.
